Help me clear up a dilemma, those of you who are into BDSM: is it better to be flogged in jeans or a skirt? Or just naked? If you’re dispensing a flogging, do you prefer to start off with someone fully-clothed, then gradually strip them, building layers of new pain on top of the warm throb of older strokes? Or go straight in for leather-on-skin? Let’s explore this topic together, via the medium of me getting horny for flogging…

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Not something I ever thought I’d experience, to be honest, but courtesy of the incredible ElectraStim AXIS… here’s a blog post about feeling music throbbing inside my ass.

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“I’m going to count backwards from ten, and when I reach one you’re going to come for me. Got it?” She gets it. But she doesn’t get it. The things she has done in her mind have never prepared her for something like this: to be able to come at the sound of his voice. The numbers alone. The tick of his verbal clock counting her down to one, and up to a climax. But she isn’t one to refuse a challenge.

This story contains some fairly intense BDSM/dominance, and fantasies of implied non-consent.

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Damn right we’re gonna talk about Fleabag. This post contains spoilers, so catch up on Fleabag on iPlayer if you’d like to see it before you read on. But unless you’ve been living under a rock, you probably already know that the audience of Fleabag is dripping lust into sofa cushions across the country, because we’re desperately willing her to fuck a priest.

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Maybe the feeling I need to tap into, if my partner and I are going to explore sexual adventures with other people, isn’t a sense of peaceful acceptance of the thought of him fucking someone else: it’s the kinkiness of it. Sometimes I want to show him off, and maybe this is the key to dampening my jealousy…

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